


and we will find a way, to escape the day

by mikantsumiki



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 16:39:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikantsumiki/pseuds/mikantsumiki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>tension. that can do a lot to someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and we will find a way, to escape the day

Tension, strain, stress, pressure. Call it like you will, they all mean the same thing.

 It can do a lot to a guy when he’s got too much, pushed too far, threatening to spill over.

Dirk doesn’t wait, can’t wait and he doesn’t want to. The minute Jake’s inside, he’s on him like a fly to light, pushing him up against the wall and keeping him there with just his forearm. He should’ve been expecting that though, what with the fact that this asshole doesn’t even call to let him know he’s on his way home, doesn’t call while he’s gone and for all Dirk knows, he could’ve died while out there, being prey for some starving animal.

Jake gets to know that too, has it growled into his neck and he can’t even see it because his glasses are askew on his face, not that it matters. He doesn’t need to see to understand what’s going on (he thinks he has it all figured out). He tries fighting back regardless, spits back that he knows how to take care of himself, he doesn’t need a caretaker and somehow he still doesn’t get it.

This isn’t about him; it’s about what’d happen if he died. Holy shit does he not realize how broken up Dirk would be if that happened?

Probably not, but he doesn’t say anything, just keeps Jake pinned there for a few more moments, staring intently into his eyes even if they can’t exactly stare back all too well. He waits for the fight to leave him but the brunette’s never given up, not really, he’s not like that and Dirk knows all too well. Still, it gives him a satisfaction of watching him struggle between wanting to punch his lights out and just getting out of his grasp.

He probably doesn’t suspect the next move Dirk makes when he moves in and their lips are meshed up against each other like two awkward teenagers kissing for the first time.

Kissing Jake English is like kissing sandpaper because his lips are dry and bitten from anxiety and he tries licking them to make things better but it only leaves a sloppy, disgusting taste in his mouth. Right now, he doesn’t care about that.

His hips keep his short jungle boy—correction, _man_ , he makes a big deal out of that—against the wall while his hands come down to get rid of his shirt, some flimsy tank top that he’s got about a hundred copies of just in different colors. It’s pushed up and flung onto the ground somewhere before he knows it.

Jake’s got scars, ones from battle and ones from adventure; they litter his body and tear at his skin. They leave their brand like birthmarks and they don’t fade. Some are thin, some are large enough to be gashes and most don’t heal; they sit in his skin, his bones, they’ve become house guests. He has gun burns on the curve of his hand from handling so many types of guns – ones he’s not familiar with.

He’s got scars too; sure, they’re not as eccentric as his boyfriend’s but they still _count_ for all their worth. Burns from mechanical malfunctions, cuts on metal and bruises from bumping into edges and not watching where he’s going, he moves too much, too fast. Some are from his work and the others are from training out in the sun and keeping himself in shape.

Dirk’s fingers are callous, they run over dark olive skin hard and harsh, grabbing and pulling and his nails dig, they scratch and they cut and they burn and it hurts, he doesn’t care. When he’s fired up, he doesn’t want to care, wishes that was the last thing on his mind, wishes in the morning he could wake up and not remember this like he has a hangover, faded memories and broken pieces of a story that doesn’t make sense.

They run over the more fresh marks, the dried blood that’s still embedded into his skin, the unnatural bumps of flesh that he doesn’t remember being there last time.  His fingers stab and jab and gouge at the skin of his chest, roam over his arms and torso and hips, painting an invisible masterpiece with just the tips.

He doesn’t linger too long, moving all too slow but oh so fast, a blur of pale skin. His mouth’s on Jake’s neck, leaving teeth marks over the ones already planted there, creating a new flurry of new, closed wounds. There’s a fire burning in his heart, flowing in his stomach, fuels how upset and angry and relieved he feels.

Dirk pulls back enough to mumble, “welcome home, asshole,” before kissing him breathless and tiredly, dragging him off towards their bedroom, stripping himself and Jake the whole way there until they’re both naked and he can see all the freckles that cover his arms and shoulders and face, and the darker ones along his sides and hiding in the creases of his elbows. He’s beautiful, really, even when he’s pissy and getting a little overdramatic about him leaving.

Well, this one way to welcome someone, Jake thinks, laughs, bites.

_manmade madness_  
 _and the romance of sadness_  
 _a beautiful dance_  
 _that happened by chance_

**Author's Note:**

> hahahaHhaah i wanted to experiment with my writing so yeah!!! critique would be great please :~D


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